


My Love Don't Cost a Thing

by nahco3



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Hooker Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:05:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahco3/pseuds/nahco3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dude," John says, sitting down at the booth. His legs barely fit underneath the table, but he's used to that. "I can't believe you made me come all the way down here."</p><p>"I like the pancakes," Roddick says, "plus I feel like diners and petty crime go well together." He's wearing a button down shirt and jeans, and looks a lot like the kind of boring business man who golfs on weekends and like, drives a Porsche since he thinks he has a small dick. He's actually a motherfucking P. I. M. P., which still baffles John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love Don't Cost a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> acchikocchi dared me to write John Isner hooker fic. I am never one to back down from a dare. so, that is what this is. it is pretty much the most absurd fic I have ever written but then again, it’s tennis fic, so.
> 
> the pairings are kind of...I don’t even know, a hot mess of satire and SINCERE LONGING. but it features Isner, Andy Roddick, Mardy Fish and Feli Lopez. comments and concrit are always welcome. and of course, this is just a product of my imagination and not based in reality at all. if you found this with google, please go back now.
> 
> cross-posted from lj.

"Dude," John says, sitting down at the booth. His legs barely fit underneath the table, but he's used to that. "I can't believe you made me come all the way down here."

"I like the pancakes," Roddick says, "plus I feel like diners and petty crime go well together." He's wearing a button down shirt and jeans, and looks a lot like the kind of boring business man who golfs on weekends and like, drives a Porsche since he thinks he has a small dick. He's actually a motherfucking P. I. M. P., which still baffles John. Not to be racist but he used to think pimps were a lot more ghetto and a lot less country club. But then again, John's kind of country club-y, so maybe that's why they work together so well.

"Cool," John says. That logic doesn't make much sense to him but whatever, Roddick's a pretty chill guy so he's not going to complain. "So who do you have for me?"

"Feliciano Lopez," Roddick says. "Nickname's Feli. Rich, famous blah blah you don't care, total closet case. Two nights at the Ritz."

"Solid," John says. "On a scale of one to like, peeing on people, how kinky?"

"Not very. Mostly just wants a shallow facsimile of affection to make him feel less alone."

"Right, like everyone," John says. "We can spoon a lot."

Roddick snorts. "Go for it." A waitress comes over, and Roddick orders his pancakes, John gets an omelet. "He paid in advance, but feel free to encourage him to tip."

John nods. "Cool, dude." Roddick's grinning at him, like he thinks he's pretty funny. John grins back. Roddick's alright. John doesn't sway that way, except for work, but he wouldn't mind sucking Roddick's dick sometime, if he asked. He never has though, probably thinks it's unprofessional or something. Maybe his boyfriend wouldn't like it. Or his girlfriend. John has no idea about his life outside the agency, which is weird since he knows all about John's life and his roommates and his family and shit.

Their food comes. They eat, and John starts talking about some crazy Call of Duty he played last night with these like, Marines or something. Roddick listens and laughs in the right places and it's pretty good.

\--

After lunch, John goes back to his apartment and showers. Afterwards he shaves carefully, against the grain. He sometimes gets lazy and lets himself get a few days of stubble. He's careful not to give people beard burn unless they want it, in which case he gives them a lot of beard burn, because he's nice like that. But on his way out of the diner, Roddick had reached up and rested a hand on his jaw. He'd stroked under John's cheekbones, kind of like he would (John imagines) if John had been sucking his cock.

"You should shave," Roddick told him, "makes you look younger."

"Dude, I'm like twelve feet tall," John said, "I'm not a very convincing twink."

Roddick shrugged and stroked his hand again along John's face, kind of speculatively. John licked his lips, hollowing out his cheeks even though there's nothing in his mouth. It was just a reflex.

"It's the eyelashes," Roddick said, withdrawing his hand. "They make you look like a sensitive college athlete who's freaked out but secretly really into it. So stay clean-shaven."

"Sure," John said, "it's your call."

"It is," Roddick had agreed, heading off down the street. "See you in a few days," he called over his shoulder.

"Yeah," John said, to himself, walking the other way. "In a few days."

So he shaves, brushes his teeth, puts on some Axe. Never underestimate the importance of smelling good. People can say whatever bullshit about pheromones and sweat but that's only true given like, initial cleanliness. He grabs a clean polo shirt, nice black briefs and his super-tight jeans. He throws on some flip flops and sticks his wallet and cell phone in his pocket. It's pretty warm out, so he doesn't bother with a jacket. Plus it's not like he's going to be leaving the room much.

He takes a cab to the hotel, since no one wants their hooker to be late since his bus broke down. At the Ritz, he smiles at the bell boy and heads to the elevator. Roddick texted him the room number, so John checks his phone just to make sure he's remembered it right.

The first few minutes are always awkward as fuck. John wipes his hands on his jeans so they aren't sweaty and makes sure his phone's on silent. Then he knocks on the door.

The guy, Feli, answers it a few seconds later. He's wearing nice clothes, suit pants and a button down shirt, and he looks nervous. John gives him a friendly smile and holds out his hand.

"Hi, Feli, I'm John," John says, letting his hand like, fucking linger on Feli's. He steps into the room and lets Feli shut the door behind him.

It's a pretty routine job. They get kind of drunk on nice champagne, (well, Feli does, John's too big to get really drunk from anything less than like a bottle of Everclear, and also too smart to get drunk in a stranger's hotel room, even if Roddick knows where he is. He doesn't want to get serial killed, thanks very much.) and make out a little bit. Feli's the kind of fucked-up person who hires a hooker so he can suck someone off, which makes John feel kind of abstractly sad. Plus Feli wants to like, choke himself on John's dick, and although John's not going to object to a blow job he is in fact getting paid to receive, personally he would recommend Feli backing off a little bit, taking his time, and using his tongue more. But then that wouldn't be whatever, painful/self-loathing enough for this dude.

After the blow job, John jerks the guy off and they cuddle for a while. Feli orders them room service and they do the whole feeding each other deal. Then John gets all the way naked and fucks him.

The next morning, Feli goes to work. John sleeps some more, takes a shower and goes to the hotel gym. He gets lunch and calls Roddick.

"I need some good sexts," he says.

"Wow, are you illiterate?" Roddick asks. "Come up with your own."

"I'm bad at it," John says, "mine are just like, 'dude when you get back I'm going to totally nail you.' I need something more like, actually hot."

"Fine," Roddick says, "I'll send you one and you can forward him it."

"Dude, best boss ever," John says, by way of thanks.

Roddick sends him: _i'm going to fuck you until you're begging me to let you come._

"Solid," John says. He actually gets kind of turned on by it, imagining Roddick saying that to him in his casual, disinterested voice. He forwards it to Feli.

\--

When Feli comes back that night, John does in fact fuck him until he's begging for John to let him come. Afterwards, he leads Feli into the shower and cleans him off since like, the guy seems kind of down on himself. John's all about whatever gets the guy off, especially since he's getting paid for it, but he doesn't really like the idea of being a dick about it. Showers are always awkward for John since he's usually taller than the shower head is, so he has to bend down so he can kiss Feli and then the spray hits him in the face annoyingly.

Then they snuggle some more, eat together, have more sex. This time John makes them take it slow since like, ok, yeah he's a hooker but he's not a fucking porn star, and it takes a certain amount of focus to fulfill his client's every need while also managing to get it up himself.

Usually he imagines some girl on girl stuff, or thinks about particularly memorable ex-girlfriends. He hasn't really dated anyone since he started working for Roddick, so he has to go back a little bit. Tonight though, his fantasies are shifting even has he rolls Feli over and works his erection through his pants, thinking of Roddick's arms, the quirk of his mouth, his voice on the phone.

What the fuck, John thinks, sliding into Feli slowly. Feli groans under him and scrapes his fingernails down John's back. John arches into him and imagines Roddick pushing him onto his back and opening up, kissing him and fucking him. He comes before Feli does, imagining Roddick inside him, then finishes off Feli with his mouth. Feli drops off to sleep, and John lies awake, staring at the ceiling.

The next morning, Feli wakes John up for a quickie before he goes. After he's gone, John washes off in the shower, pulls on his clothes and grabs his tip off the nightstand. It's pretty good. He stuffs it in his wallet, checks the room over one last time to see if he forgot anything, and heads out.

He calls Roddick from the sidewalk.

"Yo, I'm done," he says, "when do you want to meet?"

"Already?" Roddick asks.

"Dude, my brother's getting married soon and I need to buy him a fancy plate or some shit. And a new suit for the wedding." That's mostly why John wants to see Roddick anyway.

"Don't you have a suit?"

"Like, a skin-tight one with snake skin pants. I can't wear that in a church in front of my mom."

Roddick laughs. "Point. Fine, I'll schedule you something. You can stop by my apartment this afternoon."

"Sure. Text me the address?" John fistpumps a little bit, even though it makes this lady walking down the street look at him like he's crazy. Roddick's house. Perfect opportunity for snooping.

\--

Roddick's apartment is in a nice building. The doorman buzzes Roddick, then sends John up. Roddick lets John in. He's barefoot and in shorts; he has hairy legs. John likes them.

Roddick's living room is nice, too - airy and sunny and clean. His couch has pillows on it, and when John sits down on it, it's really soft and comfortable. He's still tired from the past two nights; he never sleeps well in hotels, and he kind of wants to curl up and take a nap right there.

"Let me get the file," Roddick says, when the intercom goes.

"Mr. Roddick," the doorman says, "Mr. Fish is here to see you. Should I send him up?"

"Shit," Roddick says. He looks almost panicked, for the first time John's ever seen. Even when he went to bail John out, that one time, he looked completely unconcerned. This is different.

"I didn't catch that, sir," the doorman says.

"Send him up," Roddick says. The intercom switches off and Roddick runs a hand through his hair.

"Who's Mr. Fish? Is he like, a gangster? That sounds like a fake name."

"He's an old friend," Roddick says. "Look, he thinks I'm a lawyer -"

"A lawyer?"

"It explains my in-depth knowledge of criminal law," Roddick says, quirking his lips but not quite smiling, "so just don't say anything stupid, ok?"

"Can I be your paralegal? I bet you have a pair of fishnets somewhere I can wear." John stretches his legs out and smiles. His knowledge of lawyers comes mostly from bad T.V. and weird roleplays.

"On second thought, don't say anything," Roddick says, and there's a knock on his door.

Roddick answers, and Mr. Fish says, "Andy!" and gives him a huge hug. Roddick wraps his arms around Fish pretty tight and John purses his lips.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Mardy?" Roddick asks, when they separate. He's smiling at Fish, and it goes to his eyes, but his shoulders are almost hunched.

"Stacey mentioned last night that she hadn't seen you in forever, and I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I'd stop by and see if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow."

"I'd love to," Roddick begins, when Fish turns and notices John lounging on the couch. John gives him a little wave.

"Who's this, Andy?" Fish asks, teasingly.

"I'm his paralegal," John says, biting off a hangnail.

"Paralegal?" Fish says, looking over at Roddick and raising his eyebrows. "Is that what they call it these days?"

Roddick manages to give John a death glare at the same time he's giving Fish a rueful smile. It's kind of hot. "His name is John."

"Well," Fish says, "if you want to bring John the 'paralegal,'" - and he actually fucking makes the air quotes, which is absurd - "over for dinner tomorrow, I'd love to get to know him better."

"I'll think about it," Roddick says, and his voice has this kind of blank quality. It’s pretty amazing Fish doesn’t pick up on it, but then, Fish probably doesn’t spend his working hours fucking closeted dudes so John assumes he isn’t as good at detecting heartbroken angst as John is. No shame there, really. John’s pretty skilled.

Fish and Roddick talk a little more, and then Fish leaves. Roddick stares at the door for a second after he’s gone, and John sits silent.

“Well,” Roddick says, eventually. He scrubs a hand through his hair, his shoulders slump.

“Dude,” John says, “that totally sucks. If you want to take me to dinner I’ll bang his wife for you.”

“What the fuck?” Roddick says.

“Yeah and then you can comfort him or whatever since both the people you’re dating are cheating assholes. Then when you’re both drunk you’ll totally be able to sleep with him.”

Roddick sits down on the couch next to John. He looks kind of torn between laughing at John and starting to cry. John feels bad for him.

“I somehow doubt that would work,” Roddick says, “as impeccable a plan as it is.”

“How long have you known him?” John asks.

“Since high school,” Roddick says, kind of hopelessly.

“Shit,” John says. “You can still take me to dinner if you want, you know.”

“Of course I could,” Roddick says, “I’m your boss. If I ever needed high-class escorting, you would...well, you probably wouldn’t be my first call. But I’d get to you eventually.”

“Not as a escort,” John says, “as a person. You know.”

“Are you asking me out?” Roddick asks, incredulous. “Actually?”

John considers it for a second. “Yeah.”

Roddick looks at him for a while. John wonders what he’s seeing, if Roddick’s evaluating his marketability or thinking about what kind of eyeliner he should wear to look most soulful, or if he’s actually looking at at John just to look at him. The way people look at each other, the way John looks at him.

“Sure,” Roddick says, reaching out and running a finger lightly over John’s lips. “Why not?”

“Fucking awesome,” John mutters, and leans in for a kiss.


End file.
